When you’re about to enter a new phase of life, you usually have a little warning – you get married, start a new job, send your youngest child to school, celebrate a BIG birthday. But sometimes you get propelled into that new stage of life without even realizing what’s happening. Just imagine that what you thought was your desk chair was actually the business end of a catapult, and before you know it you’re flying through the air, past a moat, and over the ramparts of a castle you hadn’t really planned to visit until some fuzzily distant time in the future, where you land ungracefully, with a thud, on your butt. That pretty much describes today.

This morning we had Kindergarten Open House, a very exciting affair for kids, parents, and school staff alike. The principal and I were greeting families in the school lobby and directing them to their classrooms. Out of nowhere, there she was – this student that I just adore. She’s such a sweetie, so cute, and heartwarmingly resilient – you know the type: the you-don’t-have-favorites-but-if-you-did-she’d-be-it-you-could-just-take-her-home kind of kid. She was coming to kindergarten, all right, but not to stay. BECAUSE SHE WAS THE MOM! I’m not talking teenaged mom, I’m talking regular mom-aged mom.

That’s right, it’s official – I’m OLD!

All of a sudden, the brutal reality of the situation hit me.

Because I worked at the high school in our district before I started at my elementary school, I’ve already had some experience with the second generation when the children of former high school students start school. (And it’s kind of fun to see the gangly teenager who refused to do his homework turned into a dad who is committed to helping his son be successful, and be asked calmly for a meeting by a mom who as a sophomore used to yell, “Where’s my f—ing counselor?!!” when I wasn’t in my office!). But having former high school students enroll their children in school is a very different thing than having someone you worked with and remember as a little girl show up with her OWN little girl in tow. It makes denial of the passing years very, very hard.

The little-girl-turned-mom and I had a wonderful reunion with hugs and exclamations of surprise and happiness, and I sent them off to the classroom. All of a sudden, the brutal reality of the situation hit me. I got hot. My hands were holding my head, perhaps to keep it from exploding. I think my mouth might have been agape. The stars in my universe were realigning, and it wasn’t pretty. Luckily, no other parents were present. (I think. I may have been having tunnel vision, in which case I wouldn’t have noticed them.) My principal, counseling colleague, and the bus driver who was waiting to give the kindergarten families a little ride around the neighborhood were cracking up. I felt like I’d become a grandmother without the requisite nine-month warning. I had to swallow hard, a couple of times, before I got back to the business of being a professional, unflappable school counselor. Who am I kidding? I am still flapped!

I caught up with my students – mother and daughter – after their bus ride. We had a nice chat, and I was really proud to see what a good mom my former student is. She was as sweet as ever, and I could still see that little girl inside the lovely woman she has become. And you know what? She told me that she still has a note that I wrote to her all those years ago! This girl was my student in my first two years as a school counselor. As I stood there with her, it was as though the new counselor I was then and the old experienced counselor that I am now exchanged glances, a nod, and a smile.

If you’re a new counselor, or even an old one like me, I’m here to tell you:

You are doing an amazing job, and it will echo through the years. And if you’re lucky, you’ll get to see it, in the confident and loving exchange between two generations of your very own, very dear students.

I hope you’ll let me know when it happens for you. I’ll be glad to mentor you through the personal universe realignment process. You can write to me care of the nursing home, because by then I won’t be old any more. I’ll be ancient!